


Evidence A: Remember

by walkamongstthestars



Series: When Sherlock Needs To Remember [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Even the consulting detective with the funny hat needs comfort sometimes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkamongstthestars/pseuds/walkamongstthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things Sherlock doesn't delete, but still needs help remembering; still needs help to believe they occurred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evidence A: Remember

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired by this post on Tumblr, which I saw the tags on and wrote a scenario for: http://walkamongstthestars.tumblr.com/post/28544118392/just-a-candid-recording-of-me-sherlock-took
> 
> I think this will end up being a series. 
> 
> [Please let me know of any mistakes, did this in a hurry. Thanks!]

"I can't bloody take this," John grabbed his Haversack, not even bothering to stay long enough to slide it on, before stomping out of the flat. 

"John? Where are you-" Sherlock turned away from his microscope to yell after John, only to discover he was already gone. Sherlock sat in an uncomfortable silence, his gaze flicking between the mold cultures he was studying and the seat John had just vacated. He swallowed and stood, realizing he didn't know what he intended to do after completing that action. So he walked into the sitting room and looked around, fiddling with the phone he hadn't realized he picked up. _John's_ phone. He looked down at it, examining it as though it might bite him. Footsteps on the stairs to 221B momentarily roused Sherlock from his daze.

"Oh, Sherlock, dear, what was all that racket? Where's…" Mrs. Hudson walked in, glancing around the room, then winced and appraised Sherlock. "Had a row, didn't you?"

Sherlock simply stood in one place, running his thumb along the SEND and POWER buttons on John's phone. His face could've been read as confusion, but it was more about hurt; more about fear. 

"Oh, Sherlock. He'll come back. He always does. Is…" Mrs. Hudson warily eyed the phone being stroked by Sherlock's fingers. "You know John. He's… he just needs time. He wouldn't remember something like that if he's ups-" Mrs. Hudson stopped herself from finishing her sentence, huffing and moving towards Sherlock. Sherlock turned his back to her and went to the window. He had done this before. But, before, he was petulant. Before, he was frustrated. Now… dear God, what had this man done to Sherlock? 

Mrs. Hudson sighed and watched Sherlock slump into the wooden chair in front of his computer. She placed a hand on his shoulder, gently, before shuffling over to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Sherlock slowly slid his hand into his trouser pocket and fingered the small flash drive while Mrs. Hudson puttered about and talked of the married ones next door who always fought, but always ended up alright. Sherlock wasn't listening. He murmured a thanks when she placed a mug in front of him and smiled, then exclaiming that she had forgotten the food in the oven, and promptly rushed out of the room. Sherlock waited until he heard the door close and quickly took the flash drive out of his pocket, sticking the USB connection side into his computer's port.

The laptop whirred away for a moment until a window popped up, with one singular file shown, labeled "Evidence A: Remember". He looked at it, expressionless, leaning back a little as he closed his eyes, his mind jumping back and forth between thoughts. 

_Sherlock, you can't keep throwing good food away to make room for sodding…what even are those?_

_Mold cultures, John. Do keep up. It's for-_

_You may think I actually care, but I don't. Jesus, Sherlock. You've been completely unreasonable this whole week. You still have to apologize to Lestrade. He didn't deserve that._

_John, if I don't examine the growth of these cultures for the next two hours, the case may go unsolved._

_Oh, because you couldn't just ask someone at St. Bart's._

_John, I would have thought you knew better than that._

_Christ, Sherlock, I'm just so damn tired. Getting double shifts at surgery on top of the case just did me in. Can you please,_ please _, just do as I ask, for once?_

_Perhaps, then, you should reconsider your extracurricular activities._

_My… what?_

_Surgery._

_Sherlock._

_Sherlock, fucking look at me. You do not get to tell me to quit my job just because-_

_You were perfectly fine before. We earn enough money from my work, why does this not satisfy you?_

_It's not about the… that's not the point. I want to work. I like to do this work. Because believe it or not, patching up sick people is actually less stressful, sometimes, than working on a case._

_But, you enjoy the cases. You said it yourself._

_I- I know I did, that's not… Sherlock, look, this has been an unbearably long week. Just, please, leave some food in the fridge for me, and apologize to-_

_Why should I apologize to him when he was wrong?_

_Because it's not about who is right or wrong. It's about who is being a bigger dick. And in this instance, you are._

_John, you keep using that insult, but you use it in affectionate ways, too. How am I supposed to know when it has a good or bad connotation? This inconsistency is-_

_SHERLOCK, for God's sake, are you actually- no. No. I'm not going to even- no. I'm bloody starving, there's no food, I'm going to go get food._

_No._

_Excuse me?_

_I said, no._

_I don't understand._

_You can't go get food._

_Why the Hell not?_

_Because, I need you here._

_What for?_

_Well, to help me document the growth of this mold, if you like, then to make tea before we go to bed. I was thinking, you were watching that ridiculous television show, but it gave me an idea. That one man was describing how he liked to receive or-_

_Sherlock fucking Holmes, if you think I'm going to make you tea and fuck you tonight, you're really not that clever._

_Why ever not, John?_

_Right. That's it. I can't take this._

Sherlock knew, even if he had trouble processing it, that he had done _something_ wrong. Logically, John was being infuriatingly unpredictable this week. But that was possibly linked to the approximately 3.4 hours of sleep he was getting each night. And, okay, yes, maybe the lack of food. But that wasn't unusual. What had bothered him so much this time? 

Sherlock looked back at the window for a few moments before his gaze returned to the video file and he double clicked on it. A new window popped open and John's face filled the screen. He hovered over the play button for a second, and then clicked.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I'm recording you."

"Yes, I gathered, but why?"

"It's for an experiment. Tell me why you love me?"

John laughed.

"Well, someone's sure of himself." A smile. The camera went out of focus for a moment as Sherlock, sitting beside John and behind the camera, rolled his eyes and poked John in the side.

" _John_."

"Right, alright, yes, of course. I love you, you cheeky git. Don't for one second believe otherwise, yeah? Because… well. Because you're mad, you're clever, and you-" a short pause as John breathed out his nose and smiled to himself, looking away from Sherlock, then back. "You make me feel alive."

The silence in between was filled with Sherlock looking at John on the tiny screen of the video camera, trying to hide his eyes from John's view. John looked directly into the camera and continued.

"You drive me up the wall, you're petulant and difficult, a complete dick most of the time.. but." Sherlock had held his breath. "But, Christ, if I can't live without you. You know, I'd be lying to God and everyone if I denied falling for you the first day we met. I just- well, you know I was struggling to understand for a very long time what it meant. But, I think I was afraid, a little, too. Oh, don't give me that look. Yeah, me, John Watson, army doctor, scared, whoohoo. Big deal. But yeah, I was, a bit. Because how could anyone so damned daft and gorgeous and amazing as you ever love me, hm? I couldn't help but deny it. I thought I was going insane. _How would this ever work_ , I thought. But damn it, you great idiot, you went and did most of the work anyway. I still think Hell froze over the day you cooked a candle light dinner for me. Jesus." 

Sherlock blinked at the screen when he noticed his hand had traveled to the pixels of John's face on it. 

"But, I'm a right sod, myself. You- you certainly know how to charm a man, though. The way you decorated with the ashtray and.. Jesus, that got me, well good. How's a man to refuse when you go and do something romantic?" John laughed again, smiling at Sherlock. Sherlock still hid behind the camera. 

"I don't even know how you _knew_ to do that, but you did, because in some weird way, you always know how to be romantic. In your own way. You always know how to take some strange thing and make it bloody marvelous. Who cares about a stupid date at the cinema when you can fill your lungs with fresh London air and catch a killer? Yeah, you smile now, just remember that night I fell in the bloody Thames. You still owe me a foot rub for that. I'm lucky I still _have_ feet. Anyway…" John paused again and sat back, carding a hand through his hair. 

"I love you because you let me be myself, because you never doubted me. You may call me a moron, and mean it, every time… but you were the first person not to treat me like some invalid. You _knew_ I could do better. Jesus, that first night is forever seared into my mind. You asked me- bloody _asked_ me if I was any good. And Hell, yeah, I know I'm good. I knew I was overqualified for the job at Surgery, but you didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. Because, at the end of the day, I still get to see the real action in the morgue, by the docks, in warehouses. You knew I needed that. So, I can take some cases of sniffles and incontinence. I can deal with other people and their lives, because it's easy, because I'm good at it, and because I know I have a fantastic, genius, consulting detective to come home to, who supports me along the way. I - God I'm waffling on, but, really. I… you know I still regret saying you were my colleague, right? I'm a tosser, sometimes, but- oh, well. Sod it, you've got me rambling on here, and all I really should say is that our first day together was enough evidence as anything for why I should, and do, love you. And why I'd kill any bloody cabbie who threatened your life, at the drop of a hat. Don't laugh,  no-" John's giggle was cut off by Sherlock kissing him, the camera catching a glimpse of it before it clattered to the floor and turned off. 

 

Sherlock kept his hand on the screen as the video stopped and went black. His tea had gone cold. Standing up, he ejected the flash drive and held it firmly in his hand for a moment, before secreting it back into his pocket. He then fished out the ashtray from under a pile of case files, and rummaged around in a drawer in the kitchen until he found a tea light, placing it in the tray and flicking his lighter to ignite a flame on the tip of it. He heated up another mug of tea - no milk, which caused Sherlock to wince- and sat. And waited.

 

The army doctor shook his head and smiled softly, greeted as he was by the curled up, lightly snoring detective. He checked his watch - _forty-five minutes_ \- and palmed the mugs to check they were cold, blowing out the candle. Then, he shed his jacket and draped it over  his partner. Carefully, he lay next to Sherlock on the sofa, making a mental note to buy even _more_ food, because, really, Sherlock should not be thin enough for them to spoon on the sofa. But, they did, Sherlock mumbling and shifting under John's embrace. 

_Don't for one second believe otherwise, yeah?_


End file.
